ticket to ride

So, my high school prom, which I did not go to because my brain was still nestled firmly in my noggin, had the theme of "Ticket to Ride" and was held in a train station. I hear it was enjoyable.

No Comment.

But now it is my favorite game, which I have used the online version to replace pirate quizzes as my favorite on-the-job timekill.

And, as simultaneously an aside and the purpose of this entry, I quit my job. My last day is January 4.

I actually quit my job last week, during the break of a MEETING OF DOOM, in which Earnesto convinced people to back his plan for Project Negative Value despite the overwhelming evidence that forecasts failure. I had it planned, but I didn't mean to say it than. It was like, "Oops, I quit."

So, you may notice some changes to the format of this page. Because finally, I am doing what I said all along I should do. What I wrote about from entry 1.

And I have no idea what I am going to do next. So please, take a moment and give a recommendation. PLEASE!

Welcome to the Twilight Zone

Things have been a little strange around here lately. I have fleetingly been experiencing something that the astute reader might realize is highly unlikely, job satisfaction. So unprecedented is this state that it has momentarily and profoundly shaken my patterns of usual behaviour. But more on that Later, let's just examine why it is so marvelous that I might actually want to go to work this week.

Why it is Crazy

a) I have actually been working on Project Negative Value. It isn't something that usually brings me great levels of joy on a usual basis. Actually, usually discussion of this project makes me want to Sylvia Plath myself (stick my head in the oven, not read The Bell Jar). It still sort of does. But this time I was doing work that I secretly hope will help derail the futility.

b) I have had to go to MEETINGS OF DOOM where there was lots of yelling and pointed questions and when we weren't meeting, we were prepping materials for the next meeting, which would commence as soon as the latest edit was done.

c) I had no time to do a Pirate quiz or virtual yahtzee. Having to work at work usually sucks.

Why I enjoyed it

a) I was able to do analysis. Marie is probably going to catch it from letting me take a break from my regular scheduling duties (from which I was already on enforced hiatus because there are only so many hours you can schedule). But she asked me to do what I have been university trained to do: analyze. And it involved research. My toes are curling at the very thought.

b) I was treated as an expert. I was all of the sudden a trusted source of information, someone who had answers, or if I didn't have them right then, I could get them. My initiatives were treated as insight the would have otherwise been unable to obtain. It doesn't matter that I am not an expert and anyone with half a brain and internet access could have collected the same information, and anyone with a working knowledge of, and a working calculator could have done it.

c) I was praised. Relying on someone and thanking them are two different things entirely, which is something I do not think that Earnesto has yet learned.

d) A little more indicative of my character flaws, I really enjoyed being part of something that throws a spanner into Earnesto's pie-in-the-sky dreaming. As my roommate has frequently said, I really f@#$% his s#$% up.

More on this later

A Reward for your Patience

For those of you who have been patiently awaiting my next post, provided that there are any of you, I am sorry. Pre-vacation prep and vacation has kept me away. Here is a brief update of what went on while I was away from the keyboard.

• Henry had his last day and rode off into the sunset.

• My foot swelled up like a sausage and broke one of my favorite shoes.
  

• I was invited to a very la event at SFMOMA, and will go next week. Apparently the person who wangled the invitation for me said I was qualified to go based of my 'young and fascinating" status. I didn't know I was young and fascinating, but hey, I'm not going to argue with it.

• I went on a leisurely vacation far away from my cell/cubicle. Acquired a bit of color that has in the two days I've been back faded back to gray.
  

• Earnesto and the senior managers went on a retreat I planned for them, enjoyed it, talked me up there, and repaid me by de-authorizing my overtime. What a swell guy.
  

But I promised a reward, and you so richly deserve it, don't you? So I will tell you all about the time when I was driven to the brink of madness by Renaldo. That's right, our very own James Brown of the industry/institute have a fascinating history that includes him driving me so batty I walked a mile to buy a chocolate cake.

I have a lovely coworker named Camille, who all the boys love. Not joking. Henry loved her, Renaldo loves her, and various and sundry other pathetic fellows have prostrated themselves at her feet in the hopes she will pay them some attention. To date, that I know of, she has only dated Henry. She has repeated fended off advances from Renaldo, who has an obnoxious tendency to pout in an obvious manner afterwards and general then endeavors to makes everyone around him feel acutely embarrassed for his complete inability to take the none-too-subtle hint.

One day, many moons ago (think May-ish) I agreed to go out one evening and give Renaldo a few tips about the situation. It was a moment of weakness on my part, but motivated by the excellent intention to give him the tip of 'IT'S NEVER GOING TO HAPPEN' and have done with the whole slightly silly saga. It had been going on since last September. Anyway, you know what they say about intentions.

So the evening rolled around and I was already feeling grave misgivings about the whole scheme. Renaldo was just so happy. He was also ridiculously stealthy as he collected me from my cell and we left to the sports bar he had chosen for what would be my torture. I don't drink, but for a fleeting moment I wished I did so I would have something to blunt the agony that loomed. No, just a diet coke and glimpses out of the corner of my eye of a Detroit-Chicago playoff game (that was a tragic series, I rather like the Bulls, but they do have some room for improvement).

Even P.J. Brown felt better than I did that night (and less violated). (Reuters)

Renaldo got himself a beer and what he perceived as license to wax poetical about the virtues of Camille. The best/worst was when he said "She is one in a million, no, one in several million girls." News Flash - That same could be said of me, but it is certainly not high praise, now, is it?

He continued for TWO hours, and every time I tried to reacquaint him with reality, he would reject it out of hand. Add to that overly loud really bad music (pretty much things I would only ever hear if I was being tortured, like being forced to go to a baseball game, or back in time to the 80s ((and not the good bit of the 80s, but the really cringe-worthy parts))) and the fact that I hadn't eaten yet that day, and you will understand, surely. I tried melting into the wooden table top or just disappearing completely, but that is the one time Radiohead actually didn't help. Nothing could prevail against this pernicious crush. It was a new kind of evil.

Finally, I demanded that I be let go. Renaldo relented, in that he took me to the Bart station, but the entire ride was absorbed with his descriptions of his "feelings" for Camille. That's right, he used the f-word. And it wasn't as funny as the clip I just linked and it was more painful than this one (partially redeemed by the Spanish intro). Anyway, feelings are things that should either be able to be explicated - example, I am attracted to Damon, I loathe Styrofoam - or not mentioned. I tried explaining this to him, but something was lost in the English as a second language area.

** DISCLAIMER** Please don't assume this means I am xenophobic or anti-Hispanic or anti-ESL. Not that it matters, but Renaldo is not in fact Hispanic. That's not his real name. It is a simple fact, however, that when going between any two languages there are certain nuances and cultural factors that are frequently misunderstood. That is all I am saying.***

I was in this purgatory of a car ride when by divine intervention, my brother called me to discuss basketball. You can bet our last dollar that I was all over that. Who cares about cell-phone courtesy when their are being granted a reprieve from torture? So I leapt from the car when it came to the station and ran.

I was shell-shocked by the time I arrived home. Shell-shocked and ravenous. All I could think of was, 'must have chocolate.' Indeed, chocolate seemed the only thing that could possible make it bearable. So I proceeded to walk a mile to the store and a mile back (uphill, in the snow, both ways! okay, it's a little cliché, but it is the truth), purchased a fine chocolate cake and ate a healthy slice. By healthy, I refer to my mental health, as it did much to restore my mental health.

Ever since that fateful day, things have never been the same between Renaldo and me. Being around him makes me crave chocolate, even though he has not repeated his version of the Inquisition. It's simply not the way things used to be. He asked, as have his coworkers, what happened that has cause this rift. I don't say anything, because I have realized, it doesn't matter what you say to Renaldo, he has very selective hearing powers. He perceives that which is pleasing to him, and this isn't it.

And to cap this tale, I have made a timeline. Enjoy!

All this time I was working?

Today I was talking to my boss (the one who is my titular boss at least) and it revealed something to me I never had realized. All I really need to do is a few token things and sit at my desk all day. He doesn't know what else I do, besides schedule his super-dull Meetings of Doom (Parts I and II). We were talking about how this one lady I work with was driving me nuts about planning a party for someone on their way out. Then it happened, he opens his mouth and says "Why is it bothering you? It's not like you're doing anything besides scheduling."

I tried to explain that I did more and went into details, but his eyes glazed over and I just barely refrained from beating him. Those of you who know me know this is somewhat miraculous. I then went to talk with my boss (the one I don't technically report to anymore, but who actually cares what I do) and she said, "good. Stop working so hard. Do more nothing."

So my new resolution is to stop and smell the roses. Read more ESPN. Take the online pirate quiz. Write more banal emails to vague acquaintances. Brush up my resume and apply for a job that expects more out of me than being a mannequin with a blackberry.

That's Hugh to you, part 1

On the final leg of my morning commute, I was seated on the shuttle, which was stopped due to the MUNI bus blocking us in temporarily, when Hugh came pounding on the door like a man being chased by the very hounds of hell. Hugh was referenced in an earlier post about creative engines as the principle perpetuator of the term.

Hugh is not his name, as you might imagine, I try to avoid libel charges in all my hobbies and timekills. But thanks to his tremendously skilled floppy hair, it is the name he will be known on the records of this blog. As a senior staff member, he is someone I interact with on a fairly regular basis. He reminds me of a puppy, one who, when he gets really excited, wets himself. Not that Hugh does. But when in comes to boyish belief structures and faith, he wins the Oscar.

Anyway, to continue the story, Hugh loped onto the bus with his usually irrepressible bounce. He gave me a big goofy smile, and I commented on his ability to make everything a production. Then I retreated behind the sonic wall of my ipod. Not a wonderful story. But what I wanted to comment on was that his hair seems to have regained its previous aggressive flop.

Because there is a difference between Hugh's floppy follicles and those of the average fellow. Hugh's hair seems to be able to convey his overall emotional state. Usually it has a jauntiness to it. However, in March - May his hair flopped feebly, telegraphing his distress at being confronted with the cruel reality that lay behind his pet project at work. The project willed be referred to as Negative Value to maintain confidentiality for work purposes.

As the name indicates, the reality behind Project Negative Value was not a friendly one, and in response to that Hugh's hair deflated into a lifeless rag. He also turned this funny gray/ashen hue that made me wonder if I needed to call in paramedics during some of the Meetings of DOOM.

We are please to report that now, both Hair and Hugh are doing well. (Volumizing Gel?)